What's that you're putting in? Marjoram. I'm trying it. Don't tell himandsee ifhespotsit. When the improved mothers were graduated from Grantham House they were financed until they got jobs or husbands, and even then they were not forgotten. One way of keeping in touch was started by Grantham himself a few years before he died. Each year on his birthday he had his wife invite four of them to dinner at his home on Fifth Avenue, and also invite, for their dinner partners, four young men. Since his death, five years ago, his wife has kept it up. She says she owes it to his memory-though she is now married to a specimen named Robert Robilotti jewelry store who has never been in the improving business. Today is Grantham's birthday, and that's where I'm going for dinner. I am one of the four young men. No! Fritz said. Why no? You, Archie? Why not me? It will ruin everything. They will all be back at Grantham House in less than a year. No, I said sternly. I appreciate the compliment, but this is a serious matter and I need advice. Consider: these girls are mothers, but they are improved mothers. They are supposed to be trying to get a toehold on life. Say they are. Inviting them to dinner at that goddam palace, with four young men from the circle that woman moves jewelry store in as table partners, whom they have never seen before and don't expect ever to see again, is one hell of a note. Okay, I can't help that; I can't improve Grantham, since he's dead, and I would hate to undertake to improve Mrs Robilotti, dead or alive, but I have my personal problem: how do I act? I would welcome suggestions. Fritz cocked his head. Why do you go? Because a man I know asked me to. That's another question, why he picked me, but skip it. I guess I agreed to go because I thought it would be fun to watch, but now I realize it may be pretty damn grim. However, I'm jewelry store stuck, and what's my programme? I can try to make it gay, or clown it, or get one of them talking about the baby, or get lit and the hell with it, or shall I stand up and make a speech about famous mothers like Venus and Mrs Shakespeare and that Roman woman who had twins? Not that. No. Then what? I don't know. Anyway, you are just talking. All right, you talk a while. He aimed a knife at me. I know you so well, Archie. As well as you know me, maybe. This is just talk and I enjoy it. You need no suggestions. Programme? He slashed at it.